


What Silences

by Barkour



Category: Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: Gen, M/M, UST
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-08
Updated: 2011-02-08
Packaged: 2017-10-15 12:40:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/160903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Barkour/pseuds/Barkour
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Wally falls ill, it's up to the Boy Wonder to ease him through it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Silences

**Author's Note:**

> For [this prompt](http://community.livejournal.com/yj_anon_meme/689.html?thread=615601) at [the YJ anon meme](http://community.livejournal.com/yj_anon_meme/).

Mid-stretch, Wally frowned. His white shirt pulled tight across his chest, outlining the lean muscles tensed in his shoulders, then it bagged as he slouched. He touched his hand to the small of his back.

Robin rolled the stylus to the corner of his mouth. "You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," Wally said, still frowning. "My back just hurts all of a sudden."

"Why do people say that?" Robin turned back to the touch screen. "All of a sudden what? It's a grammatical disaster."

"You're one to talk." Wally settled comfortably beside him. Their arms nudged, then their hips, and Wally pressed warm and heavy against Robin. "You in yet?"

He flicked the stylus off his tongue. "Almost. Just need to break through one more firewall and Mount Justice's security cameras are all ours."

"Sweet," Wally said. He rubbed absently at his nose.

Robin glanced sidelong at him. "You sure you're not coming down with something?" He leaned close, squinting. Wally's face showed red beneath his freckles, and as Robin felt his brow, that redness brightened. "You're kind of warm."

Wally batted him away. "Please, dude, I haven't come down with anything in years." He puffed up. "Must be my radical metabolism. Viruses don't stand a chance against Wally West's superpowered white cells."

The computer chimed: the last obstruction had fallen, access to the cave's security system not granted but won. Robin ran a quick systems check to verify access, then he grinned.

"We're in."

"Aw, yes!" Wally leaned forward. "Check Red Tornado's tower."

"Stop crowding me." Robin elbowed him hard in the gut.

"Why are you skinny?" Wally groaned, bent double. "Is that part of your bat-training? How to sharpen your bones?"

"I'm checking the external feeds," Robin said loudly. "Let me know when you're done rolling around on the floor."

Wally coughed pathetically but moaned no more.

*

Dick pushed back from his desktop and stretched out first his arms, then his legs. A knot high between his shoulder popped, and he fell back against his chair, his arms dangling bonelessly. The computer clock read 7:55PM. Dick toed the heel of his left foot. He still had time before night patrol.

He fished his cell-phone - an experimental Japanese model, all sleek lines and graceful folds, Bruce had gifted him for Christmas - out of his pocket. _X-Box Live, Call of Duty. Feel like killing some Nazi zombies tonight,_ he texted rapidfire to Wally.

The screen blinked then cleared, message sent. Dick ran his thumb down the keypad, feeling the subtle grooves denoting each key. 7:56 rolled into 7:57. The screen dimmed. Scowling, Dick forwarded the text again.

Two to eight, then.

Whatever. If Wally was ignoring him, fine. He shoved his phone back into his pocket, and it vibrated in his hand, the buzz electric against his fingertips. Dick startled. He glanced guiltily over his shoulder, but of course he was alone in his room.

 _cant,_ Wally wrote. _tired. gonna go 2bed early. sry. 2mro?_

Dick snorted. _Since when do you go to bed early?_ he shot back; then he waited.

At five after eight, his phone still and silent in hand, Dick flicked it open. The line sang, clear as bells. Dick tapped a finger against his knee. After the second ring, the line connected.

"Hello," a woman with a warm voice said, "you've reached the Wests. This is Mary."

Dick turned round in his rotating chair. He smiled at his empty room, the bed he'd neatly made in the morning, the windows looking out over the estate gardens, the scattering of personal awards carefully arranged upon a table in the corner.

"Hi, Mrs West, it's Dick. Wally's friend from school."

"Oh, Richard! We haven't seen you in a while. How are you doing?"

"I'm doing great, Mrs West, thanks. How're you?"

"I'm fine, I'm just fine, and really, Richard, I've told you, just call me Mary."

Rudolph West's voice rose strident but indistinct, a distant rumble on the line.

"No, Rudy, I don't think it's disrespectful. Would you please stop shouting, I'm on the phone--"

Dick looked to that table laden with mathlete and gymnastics trophies, and thought of the photo he'd tucked in the drawer beneath. His stomach tightened. He wondered if Wally could hear his parents shouting in the room below his own.

"I'm sorry, Richard," Mary said, flustered. "What were you saying?"

He turned to his computer. "No, it's okay, Miss--Mary," he said. "I was just wondering if Wally was free to talk?"

Mary softened. "Oh, I don't think he is, Richard, I'm sorry. He's a little under the weather. Probably caught the flu bug that's going around."

"Nothing wrong with that boy. Just lazing around."

"Rudolph," Mary snapped. "I'm on the _phone_." Then to Dick, she said, "I'm sure you'll see him in school on Monday."

"Oh, sure," Dick said. "Yeah, I'll see him then. It's fine. Thanks. You, too."

The line clicked off. Dick lowered his phone and looked down to it. The generic preprogrammed wallpaper, a cloud of fireworks that flashed in intervals against the night sky, winked at him. The keypad was warm against his thumb. He pocketed his phone again.

Throwing his bedroom door open, Dick shouted down the hall, "Alfred? Alfred!" The grandfather clock set halfway down the hall ticked and ticked, its pendulum swinging slow and steady.

Dick ventured out. He drew the door shut on his quiet, empty room, and the muted click reverberated in his hand.

*

Both Mary and Rudolph worked weekends, Mary at Danielle's Fabrics, Rudolph as a manager at the automobile plant. Dick fished the spare key out of the planter set beside the door and thought again of telling Wally to tell his parents to work on their home security. The key stuck. He jiggled the handle twice and tried it again. The door popped open.

Dick tossed the key back into the planter, reshouldered his satchel, and entered the West's suburban home. Sunlight brightened the small, tidy rooms and dappled the stairs, which creaked as he ascended them.

First door on the left was the bathroom. A Flash decal with "Wally's Room" scrawled on it hung from the second door.

"Way to protect your secret identity," Dick muttered.

He tried the door; it opened without complaint, but caught on a mess of dirty clothes. Dick rolled his eyes. Into the breach. He waded into the nightmare that was Wally's room in its natural state, a disaster zone of carelessly shucked jeans and unwashed plates. Dick kicked a clear space free beside the bed and dumped his satchel there.

Wally's hair stuck out from beneath the comforter. He'd turned his face down toward his pillow. Sweat beaded his brow. His nose wrinkled and he licked at his lips. He mumbled, "Mom?"

Dick crouched beside him. "Might want to get your eyes checked."

Wally's brow creased. He rubbed his cheek against the pillow, then he squinted blearily at Dick. "Robin?"

"Secret identity, idiot," Dick said. "It's Dick."

Wally sighed. "Where'd Mom go?"

"Her job. She told me you had the flu."

Dick poked his cheek, hot and red so his freckles hardly stood out. Wally turned away.

"Why didn't you get your flu shot?"

"Don't need it."

"Obviously you do," Dick said. "Are you wearing the same clothes you wore yesterday?"

Wally shrugged. He coughed into his sleeve, and the sound of it was ragged and dry.

Dick stood and snagged the satchel again. "I'm going to get you some water. When I get back you had better have changed into something that isn't soaked with your sweat."

"What if I haven't?" His eyes glinted fever-bright through his pale eyelashes.

He paused at the door and glanced back at Wally. Wally tipped his head. His throat, long and slick with sweat, arched. He looked very small and very alone there amongst the comforters. Dick turned away again.

"Then I'll take your clothes off myself."

"I think I need a chaperone," Wally rasped after him.

Dick said, "Just do it," and left him.

*

He returned balancing a glass of water and a bowl of the herbal chicken broth Alfred had concocted from scratch the night before, "as," Alfred had said dryly, "I would rather not leave you alone with the stove, Master Richard."

Dick set the bowl upon the bedside table. Wally had changed; at the very least, he'd stripped out of that shirt. His shoulders showed, bare. Freckles spotted the breadth of his back. His breath wheezed out.

"Hey," Dick said. "I brought you water."

Wally breathed in then out and in again. His eyelashes fluttered on his cheeks.

" _Hey_."

Dick nudged him. Wally's shoulder was sticky against his palm, sticky and warm even as the fan spun on and on overhead.

"Wally, get up. You have to drink."

Wally hunched his shoulders. His mouth pinched. "Nn wanna."

"Get up," Dick said. "Or I'll show _Mary_ where you keep your smut."

Like a lion rising from a deep slumber, Wally pawed at Dick. He slapped Dick's knee, then his thigh. Dick side-stepped before Wally decided to do some actual damage.

"Drink this," Dick commanded. "And sit up unless you want to drown. Take this with the water." He pressed two advil into Wally's limp hand.

Wally groaned piteously and relented. Dick stood sentinel until Wally had scoffed the med and drained the glass. His Adam's apple rocked in his throat. He closed his eyes; the corners crinkled. A shadow fell beneath his eyes.

"I made you some soup," Dick said then. "You need to eat, too."

Wally smiled. Tired, his face folded into soft creases. "Thanks, dude. Gotta sleep first, though." He eased back into the mound of comforters.

Dick cinched his lips. "Have you eaten anything today?"

"Box of Cheerios." Wally burrowed deeper. "Chicken noodle soup." He yawned.

Dick looked to the table. A waste. He should just dump it back into the pot. He moved to stand, and Wally caught his wrist. Dick turned to him.

Half-buried in the depths of his bed, comforters wound like drifts about him, Wally said, "You can stay if you want," in his drowsy, hoarse voice.

Dick's heart trip-trapped. He sneered. "Why would I want to stay?"

His lashes stood pale against his cheeks. "Quiet," he whispered.

"What," Dick said. "Did you just tell me to shut up?"

Then, as the words fell off his tongue, he thought of the silence that had settled in the West's house, of the voices that did not speak for no one was there to speak, how Wally had said, "Mom?" and turned his face just so. His fingers were loose around Dick's wrist; his hand slid slowly free. In silence, Wally slept.

Dick sat stiffly on the edge of the bed. A corkboard hung on the wall opposite, bedecked with science fair ribbons and newspaper clippings. Wally's own awards table. A selection of photos had been pinned to one corner of the board. Among them, Dick recognized his own bare face. Wally grinned beside Dick; a ferris wheel rose behind them. Dick thought of the photograph tucked within the drawer in his room. He turned his shoulder to the board.

Wally slept on. His arm dangled off the bed, the inside of his wrist turned up to the ceiling.

"You're going to lose feeling in your arm," Dick told him.

He leaned over to tuck Wally's arm back onto the bed, and Wally rolled over onto his other side so his long, lean back bent before Dick. His back swelled, and sank, with each breath in, and each breath out.

"You're such a pain," Dick muttered. He set his watch alarm for two hours. "But I guess someone has to make sure you're okay."

The bed creaked as he laid upon it, and Wally murmured. Dick rested his head upon the pillow and said, "Stop arguing with me and get some rest, okay?" It was only the flu what kept Wally quiet. Regardless, Dick counted it as a win.

"And you're going to eat all that soup later," he said. "And you're going to clean up this room."

The sheets smelled of Wally, the comforter, too, as he drew it over his own shoulders. Wally - his warmth, his scent, the huff of his breath in counterpoint to the whirring tsk of the fan - engulfed Dick.

"And," Dick said, "you're going to thank me," then he leaned into Wally's back and he closed his eyes; and he listened to his own heart tum-tum-tumming in his chest and to Wally's beating like the steady swinging of a pendulum in its case.


End file.
